


It Was Yours To Have Long Ago

by trashcangimmick



Series: Oh My Poison [3]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Kink, Domestic Fluff, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Omega Handsome Jack, Omega Rhys, Omega/Omega, Omegaverse, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-13 12:46:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Five times Jack proposed and the one time Rhys said yes.





	1. One Gonna Heal My Body, Another Gonna Heal My Pain

**Author's Note:**

> At this point, you should probably read the series my dude.

1.

 

The second Jack walks into the apartment holding a bouquet of roses and a bottle of champagne, Rhys knows something terrible has happened. Jack is not the sort of guy who does anything that could be construed as nice without ulterior motives. 

 

“Heya kiddo—“

 

“Don’t ‘hey kiddo’ me. What disaster have you caused?”

 

Jack puts on his best show of affronted shock. “I can’t bring my boyfriend flowers for no reason?”

 

“You could, but you don’t. Who did you fuck?”

 

“I didn’t!” Jack waves the flowers around as he takes up defensive patterns of gesticulation. “I didn’t do anything wrong, holy shit, Rhysie. You need to calm down. You’re so paranoid.”

 

“I wonder why that is.” Rhys just raises his eyebrows. “It definitely has nothing to do with the way you fucked my college boyfriend, tried to lie about it, and then gave me a bamboo plant instead of apologizing when I found out.” 

 

“C’mon that was like, forever ago.”

 

“It was six months ago.”

 

“But hey, who’s counting?” Jack slinks forward, all smarmy smiles. “I love you, baby.”

 

“Did you accidentally kill my mother or something? Did you kill her on  _ purpose? _ ”

 

“No, Rhys. I didn’t kill your horrible hag of a mother. If I did I’d be doing you a favor, but that’s not the point.”

 

Jack is standing next to him now. He holds out the flowers. Rhys takes them with no small measure of caution. He doesn’t like accepting bribes without knowing the terms. 

 

They are beautiful roses. A nice array from white to delicate pink. No doubt Meg picked them out. Sometimes Rhys feels like he should be dating  _ her _ when she has such an obvious hand in all of Jack’s so-called romantic gestures. 

 

“I need you to marry me for tax reasons.”

 

“Oh my god.” Rhys drops the flowers. He gets up off the couch and starts walking. He knows that Jack is going to follow him. But he has to at least put on a show of protest. 

 

“Baby, come on. We’ve been together like four years. I’ve got an ironclad prenup all drafted up. We don’t even have to throw a party if you don’t want to! We can just head to the chapel, swap rings, kiss and call it done.”

 

“That sounds absolutely awful.”

 

“Why? It’s not like anything has to change. If I can claim you as a dependent, would save me literally millions of dollars. It’s good for the Hyperion stock when I get hitched. Makes me seem more stable or some shit. It’s a win all around.”

 

“Except for the fact that I want no part of it. Marry Meg or something.” Rhys makes it to his office and shuts the door before Jack can get through. 

 

“You’d hate that!” Jack calls through the thick wood. 

 

Of course, Jack is right. But Rhys doesn’t have to admit it. 

  
  
2.

 

The thing about Jack is that he doesn’t give up. It’s why he’s sitting pretty at the top of the food chain. It’s most of the reason he and Rhys are even together. That borderline pathological persistence and drive to win the prize. 

 

Saying “no” to Jack and living to talk about it is something pretty much only Rhys can do. And even then, he’d call his success rate mixed at best. Jack likes him enough not to kill him for being disagreeable. Jack doesn’t like anybody enough to let them get one over on him. If he ever cedes a battle, it’s in service of the greater war. So eventually it becomes more about Rhys losing an argument on his own terms rather than him actually winning anything. 

 

He’s not expecting this whole mess to be any different. 

 

He knows perfectly well what’s going on when Jack makes up a flimsy excuse to visit Dionysus. He says he’s there scouting locations for a new manufacturing plant. Rhys highly doubts they’re going to spend much time outside the honeymoon sweet all weekend. 

 

To his credit, Jack actually does take them out to a few nice restaurants. He rents a helicopter and they go sightseeing. They land on top of a beautiful mountain, next to a waterfall. Rhys is actually enjoying himself until Jack gets down on one knee and presents him with a huge fucking diamond. It’s gaudy. An obvious display of wealth. So very much not Rhys’ style. 

 

“No.” Rhys manages to keep from rolling his eyes. Just barely. 

 

“Why!” Jack actually does look offended this time. 

 

“Do you really want me to list the reasons you’re terrible husband material?”

 

“Are they different from the reasons I’m a bad boyfriend? Because you’ve been putting up with all of those for a long fucking time.” 

 

“Truly. But getting married is a big deal to me. You also probably spent more on that ring than you would save by us filing jointly. So I fail to see how this is a sound business decision.”

 

Jack gets up and dusts himself off. But he doesn't put the ring away. Instead he steps very close into Rhys’ space. “OK. So, what if I already finished my taxes.”

 

“The answer is still no.”

 

“Even if give up the filing jointly idea all together?”

 

“It’s not about the taxes, Jack.”

 

“What is it about then? Your weird compulsion to reject me for fun?”

 

“For one thing, you’ve managed to alienate everyone in my family. How do you think my mother would react to this?”

 

“Are you kidding? She’d be ecstatic you’re finally marrying me just so she could mooch off us–”

 

“Let me finish. My friends also don’t like you. Yvette would probably murder me if I asked her to be my maid of honor. You are not predisposed to a life of monogamy, which is something I would eventually want in a long-term committed relationship. You constantly disregard my feelings and think you can fix large emotional riffs with band-aid solutions. And you are terrible at expressing yourself in a healthy or productive way. When you get mad, you just blow things up instead of talking about it.”

 

“So why are you still dating me?” Jack huffs.

 

“I ask myself the same question every single day.”

 

“I’m serious, Rhysie… can you actually not see a future with me?”

 

“I can. It’s just not a future I want as things currently stand.”

 

“Well, what exactly do you want?” Jack slips the ring into his pocket before placing his hands on Rhys’ waist. They are dangerously close to kissing. Rhys hates how much he wants to lean forward. The way he shivers when Jack gets even closer, to whisper right against his ear. “Gimmie something to work with here, kid.”

 

“I guess you’re just gonna have to be a better boyfriend. This whole vacation thing isn’t bad. We could definitely do more of this.”

 

“All right. You want the lovey dovey crap? I haven’t even gotten started.”

 

“Let’s see what you’ve got. I’m sure I can take it.”

  
  


3.

 

“Rhys, what’s going on? Your stupid boyfriend just called and invited me to dinner.” Yvette is smiling on the other side of the video call. Probably in part because she gets to call the most powerful man in the galaxy  _ stupid  _ without fear of retaliation. 

 

“I don’t know. Probably has something to do with me telling Jack he has to be nicer if he wants me to marry him.”

 

“He  _ proposed?” _ Yvette actually looks like she might pop a blood vessel. 

 

“I said no.”

 

“Oh my god, you fucking nerd. Why am I just now hearing about this?”

 

“Because it was for tax reasons, and then he got offended when I wasn’t tripping over my own feet in a rush to say yes, so now he’s just trying to prove that he can convince me to agree to it.”

 

“I’ve told you that your relationship is fucked, right? Like that’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard.”

 

“Yeah. I know.”

 

“So what are you gonna do? Are you going to cave at some point?”

 

“Probably. I mean, he does have some positive qualities. Money. A nice body. He’s good in bed. He’s funny at inappropriate times… I’m pretty sure he’d kill anyone that ever tried to mess with me, which is kind of sweet in its own way.”

 

“You’re gonna be a mobster wife.”

 

“Basically, yeah. Are you gonna come over later?”

 

“I guess so. As long as Jack cooking doesn’t mean he’s trying to poison me.”

 

“There’s no way he’s actually gonna cook.”

 

“That’s what he said.”

 

“Well, you’ll have to excuse me then. I have to go put a frilly apron on him and take pictures.”

 

“All right. I have to head out soon anyway if I wanna be there by seven. Later gator.”

 

“See yaaa.”

 

Rhys hits the end call button and immediately heads off to the kitchen. He can hear the clattering pans from all the way down the hall. 

 

Jack doesn’t notice him right away. He’s busy rolling out dough. There is flour everywhere, of course. When Jack enters a kitchen, it seems to immediately become a disaster area. Rhys has only seen it happen a handful of times. Usually Jack is way too busy to bother with cooking. Hell, he used to claim he didn’t even have time for more than one meal a day. Rhys has at least gotten him on board for both breakfast and dinner with the whole, ‘if you don’t have time to feed yourself then we don’t have time to fuck’ argument. But it’s always an uphill struggle. 

 

Rhys settles down on a bar stool at the kitchen island and watches Jack start to cut the dough into thin strips. He must be doing fresh pasta. 

 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Jack barely glances up at him. 

 

“It’s Friday. I don’t have anything that needs to be finished until Monday.”

 

“You know, I’m glad I never actually hired you. For a supposed salesman, you’re pretty lazy.”

 

“Cultivating good relationships takes time and delicacy. Not everyone has to make threats to get contracts.”

 

“Whatever. Soft selling is for pussies.”

 

“Will you make me a drink, please?”

 

Jack pauses for a moment, probably considering whether this is still part of the banter or an actual request. But he eventually sighs and wipes his hands off on a dish towel. He gets out the boston shaker and the gin. He pours out two gin martinis, dry with a lemon twist and a sprig of mint, just the way Rhys likes it. 

 

Rhys sips his drink slowly as he watches Jack roll out some more dough. It’s relaxing. Almost hypnotic. Rhys is probably one of the few people alive that knows Handsome Jack spent his youth working at a restaurant while getting a degree in computer science. Jack still watches trashy cooking shows in the middle of the night if he can’t sleep. What would the universe even look like if Jack had become a Sous Chef instead of taking over Hyperion?

 

By the time Jack starts shucking oysters for the cream sauce, Rhys is three drinks deep, and more than a little tipsy. He really shouldn’t have any more before Yvette gets there. He wants to be halfway coherent in case the conversation goes sour and he has to do damage control. 

 

“You know,” he smiles, “I like watching you cook.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Jack waggles his eyebrows. “You’ve got some interesting turn ons, kid.”

 

“I mean… it’s not exactly a sex thing. But it kind of is.”

 

“I’m almost done here. We’ve got what, half an hour before that bitch shows up?”

 

“Don’t call her a bitch.”

 

“She almost knocked some of my teeth out.”

 

“You deserved it.”

 

“Be that as it may, she’s still not very nice.”

 

“She has a strong personality. Just like you.”

 

“OK. Sure. Whatever.” Jack washes his hands and turns off the stove. 

 

Next thing Rhys knows, Jack is undressing him. Unbuttoning his shirt and stripping his pants away right there in the kitchen. Rhys stays on the bar stool. It’s the perfect height for Jack to slide into him. 

 

“So, you gonna marry me?” Jack manages to ask between sloppy kisses. 

 

“No.”

 

“What if I promise to cook for you and your terrible friend once a month?”

 

“No.”

 

“Once a week?”

 

Rhys so doesn’t want to talk about this right now. But when he tries to slip a hand between them and touch himself, Jack grabs his wrist. 

 

“Come on, I’m close!” Rhys groans. 

 

“What’s the rush? You haven’t even answered my question.”

 

“I’m not saying yes for an orgasm.”

 

“Can you blame a guy for trying?” 

 

Rhys bites his lip. He could throw a fit. He could call Jack an asshole. He could bring everything to a grinding halt so neither of them gets off. But there’s a much easier way to get what he wants. 

 

_ “Daddy.” _  Rhys whimpers, clutching at Jack, trying to press closer.  _ “Please. Please touch me. Need you to make me feel good.” _

 

It’s such blatant manipulation. Rhys is always surprised at how well it works. Jack folds instantly. He lets go of his grip on Rhys’ wrist. Starts rubbing Rhys’ cock himself. Rhys gets lost in the mix of pleasure and self-satisfaction. He comes with Jack whispering in his ear about how he’s  _ such a good boy, so wet for Daddy, love you, baby, love you so much. _ Jack’s not far behind him. Jack can never last long once Rhys puts on the sweet, innocent voice and says the magic words. 

 

There’s barely time for a shower and wardrobe change before Meg’s on the ECHO asking if she should send Yvette up. The apartment still reeks of sex. Then again, it probably would have anyway. There isn’t a single surface they haven’t fucked on. 

 

To their mutual credit, Jack and Yvette manage to exchange casual greetings without any insults or passive aggressive remarks. It might be a first. They all sit down around the table, Yvette across from Rhys and Jack beside him. It’s a bad idea to mix gin and wine, but Rhys still pouts until Jack opens a bottle of the fancy shit. A twelve year old Chablis that goes down incredibly smooth. Not that Rhys can really taste the difference between a $10 wine and a $100 dollar wine. But still. It’s a nice gesture. 

 

While they eat, Yvette chatters to Rhys about their various college friends and people from Atlas. She name drops anybody she can that Jack doesn’t know. Including several of Rhys’ exes, and old coworkers who he really couldn’t give two shits about. He smiles and plays along, though. Because it’s fun to watch Jack go from feigned interest, to obvious boredom, to outright annoyance. Eventually he starts to retaliate by putting an arm around Rhys’ shoulders and feeling him up under the table while making direct eye contact with Yvette—like he’s daring her to say something about it. 

 

For half a second, Rhys wonders if this was all a pretense to arrange a threesome. Jack has casually suggested it before. In that  _ I’m only joking if you aren’t into it _ tone. It might be fun. But also Rhys isn’t sure any of them would survive such an explosive power struggle. Yvette and Jack are bad enough with all their clothes on. They don’t get any less domineering when you enter a bed into the equation. If anything, it makes their natural bossiness worse. He doesn’t even want to think about the literal dick-measuring contest that would ensue. It might mean some great orgasms for him. But it would also undoubtedly result a lot of hurt feelings and at least one shattered ego. He doesn’t wanna clean up that sort of mess. 

 

So he gently pushes Jack’s hand away from his crotch. Jack doesn’t fight him. He settles for resting his open palm on Rhys’ thigh. 

 

“Well, I have to hand it to you, Jack.” Yvette smiles as she pours what’s left of the wine into her glass. “You’re a half decent cook.”

 

“And you aren’t entirely unpleasant company.”

 

“Awe, shucks. That’s so sweet of you to say.”

 

It’s honestly more civil than Rhys could have hoped for. Hell. It halfway borders on friendly. By the time Yvette leaves, everyone is tipsy, full of pasta, and in good spirits. 

 

“So you’re really going to invite her over once a week?” Rhys grabs Jack by the wrist and leads him towards the bedroom. 

 

“If I have to. But for my sanity, I’d prefer bi-weekly.”

 

“A perfectly acceptable compromise.”

 

Rhys falls into the bed and pulls Jack down on top of him. He has to reward good behavior, after all. Jack learns best through positive reinforcement. 

 

4.

 

“THESE GODDAMN SKAGFUCKING PEICES OF GARBAGE!”

 

“Jack.”

 

“PETTY THEFT I GET. HELL, EVEN MURDER I GET. BUT DEFACING MY STATUES FOR NO REASON?”

 

“Please breathe. They’re just kids.”

 

“THEY’RE LITTLE PUNKS WHO DESERVE WHAT'S COMING TO THEM.”

 

Jack throws his ECHO pad across the room. It hits the wall and shatters with a loud crash. Rhys might wince just a little. He should really have a conversation with the idiot who even forwarded the footage along instead of just cleaning up the evidence. Opportunity recently got a new head of security. The guy didn’t know better. Probably thought he was being diligent by sending in a case report. 

 

He probably didn’t know that Jack reads everything that drifts through his inbox, because he’s incapable of not micromanaging. Most sane people could not even begin to comprehend how personally Jack takes it if he sees evidence that he’s not universally adored. 

 

Basically, some idiot tweens spray painted vaginas on a few statues of Jack. It will wash off. Jack might actually be more offended by the additions of the uni-brows or the fact the kids crossed out “Handsome” from the engravings and replaced it with “Ugly”. It was a stupid thing for those kids to do, sure. But it really isn’t something that should be punished with death…

 

Rhys approaches slowly. Much in the way one would approach a frightened animal. He gently places a hand on Jack’s shoulder. 

 

“I know you’re very upset. You have a right to be. But maybe before you give any finite orders, we could sit down and talk about this for a minute.”

 

“What’s there to talk about!” Jack is still wild-eyed. But at least he’s lowered his voice slightly. 

 

“Well, for starters you could calmly explain the reasons why you think it’s appropriate to discipline children at gunpoint.”

 

Jack is bright red under his mask. But he’s taking time to breathe. Rhys gently guides him away from the desk, where he could press a button and end the lives of several people in an instant. They end up on the couch. Jack looking straight ahead, still taking unnaturally steady breaths. Rhys rubs soft circles across his back in what he hopes is a soothing manner. 

 

“I’m sure the Opportunity cleaning crew has already fixed it. They’re very fast. I bet you nobody even saw.”

 

“Whether or not anyone saw it isn’t the goddamned point. It wouldn’t matter if people saw it, so long as I put some heads on pikes. It’s about sending a message, pumpkin. If you make an example out of the human trash, then it provides ample incentive to keep everyone else in line.”

 

“Is there maybe a different way you could set an example? Other than beheading or shooting?”

 

“Probably. But you don’t keep up a reputation for being tough on crime unless you put your money where your mouth is!” Jack snaps. “Do you think I enjoy doing this shit?”

 

“It really seems like that’s at least part of it.”

 

“OK. Killing bandits, sure. That’s fun. I don’t want to send a bunch of kids to their death. I’m not a monster. But I  _ have _ to. I can’t let them get away with such a flagrant violation of common decency.”

 

“What if you just sent them to jail? Or maybe a work camp?”

 

“Why do you even care about this so much? You have watched me shoot people in the head without batting an eye.”

 

“They’re  _ kids _ , Jack.” Rhys knows he’s a sucker, but he can’t stand it when bad things happen to children. Maybe it’s latent paternal instinct. But the idea of some twelve-year-olds getting executed by firing squad over a rude joke makes his stomach twist. 

 

“So…” Jack stops himself. Probably before the catty  _ so what _ or  _ so this is just your biological clock going off? _ “OK. OK…is this about more things than it’s really about?”

 

Rhys is almost proud of the question. Also profoundly uncomfortable, because now he has to answer it. 

 

“I guess it might be.” He shifts in his seat. It’s his turn to avoid eye contact. 

 

“You understand, this is a fucked up way to tell me you want kids.”

 

“It’s fucked up that you would hurt a kid!”

 

“Do you, though? Like—do you want to have kids with me?”

 

“I don’t know, Jack. I mean. I don’t want to be pregnant or anything. But I always thought… maybe someday I’d adopt or something.”

 

“OK.” Jack slumps back, let’s his head fall against the cushions so he’s staring up at the ceiling. “If this is one of your mysterious calculations about the future and whether or not you’re gonna actually spend it with me… little brats running around are not something I’m entirely opposed to.”

 

“That’s good to know.”

 

“Can I borrow your ECHO?”

 

Rhys is apprehensive handing it over. But Jack seems to have calmed down considerably. It’s kind of amazing how fast he can pendulum between emotions. Rage, excitement, cool apathy, utter depression, then right back up to manic joy. It’s probably some strain of undiagnosed mental illness or personality disorder. But Rhys isn’t a psychiatrist, and there’s no way Jack would ever go to one. 

 

Jack takes the ECHO pad from Rhys and sends a few rapid messages. Then he hands it back. 

 

“Go ahead and look.” He sighs. 

 

**Round up those little bastards, throw them in jail, and get them some uniforms.**

 

**I want them working sanitation detail and if Opportunity is anything less than spotless next time I visit, they’re the first ones up for correction, re-education and extra time served.**

 

“See? I was nice.” Jack edges closer. 

 

“You were very nice. Heroically fair and just.”

 

“One might say… husband material?”

 

“Not quite. I literally just had to talk you out of child murder. But you’re getting closer.”

 

Jack reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. He flips it open. It’s a different ring. Much smaller diamond. Far more tasteful. 

 

“I returned the other one. Figured it might have been a little over the top for you.” Jack is smiling. But the vulnerability is palpable. It seems like he’s getting more serious every times he brings up the marriage thing. The less of a game it is, the more Jack’s hyper-inflated feelings are likely to get hurt.

 

So instead of walking away, Rhys takes the ring box and examines it. Definitely an improvement. Something he wouldn’t be embarrassed to wear in public. 

 

“I do like this one better.” He offers after a moment.

 

“Gonna put it on?”

 

“No. I still want you to get down on one knee. It better be incredibly romantic. Don’t be afraid to ask Meg or Yvette for advice.”

 

“Duly noted,” Jack actually manages a small laugh.

 

Rhys closes the box and hands it back. Jack doesn’t look entirely crestfallen. All the lingering wistfulness fades as he pulls Rhys into his lap and kisses him. 

 

5.

 

When the holidays roll around, Jack begrudgingly agrees to visit  _ The Hag of Eden 6 _ . He’s not happy about it, and grouses the entire way there. But he puts on an ugly Christmas sweater, leaves all but one of his guns on the ship, and agrees he’ll at least  _ try _ not to get blackout drunk.

 

Rhys’ two aunts, their husbands, and a myriad of younger cousins have already arrived. Rhys’ mother is a short jellyroll of a woman, who always insists on hosting, despite the fact that it gives her terrible anxiety. Rhys spends most of the first evening in the kitchen with her, trying to make sure there’s actually food on the table at some point. Which means Rhys gets to listen to a three hour lecture on why he’s made all the wrong choices in life, and Jack is mostly left to his own devices. Sitting alone on the patio, because nobody wants to talk to him.

 

Most of the family is understandably a little nervous around Jack. Two years ago, he pulled out a pistol when Aunt Tilda pursued a passive-aggressive line of questioning about the age difference in Rhys and Jack’s relationship. She had a point. Sixteen years is a significant gap. But Jack really hates being reminded that he’s subject to the rules of time, the same as any mortal. He refused to even let Rhys throw a party on his 45th birthday. He also doesn’t seem to understand that brandishing weapons at relatives tends to cause more problems than it solves. He’s not entirely to blame for that. He had a really fucked up childhood. 

 

Jack must be making a real effort, though. He still hasn’t gotten into any shouting matches by dinner time. He doesn’t really contribute to the conversation at the table. Which is uncharacteristic, to say the least. He just sits quietly beside Rhys, sips his brandy, and picks at the food. He doesn’t even speak up when Rhys’ mother starts in about how they never visit, and she’s so lonely out here, and  _ what ever happened to that nice young lady you used to bring around, Rhys?  _

 

It’s at least an improvement over her monologues about how Rhys really needs to stop wasting time and settle down with a nice Alpha so he can pop out some babies. Apparently, all Rhys needed to do for her to accept that he’s gay was to present an even worse problem–in the form of a rude, alcoholic, homicidal older boyfriend. 

 

When dinner is over, everyone moves to the living room so they can watch bad TV and drink eggnog. Rhys and Jack curl up on a loveseat in the far corner. Rhys has just enough of a buzz going to feel relaxed and floaty. 

 

He can tell Jack is very much  _ not _ on the same page. Probably because he hasn’t been getting too hammered to see straight. Even if Jack doesn’t want to talk about it in more than passing jokes, he has a lot of bad memories around family and the holidays. Rhys can feel how tense he is. Like he’s going to snap at any minute and just bolt out the door. Rhys does his best to be comforting. Wrapping an arm around Jack’s shoulders. Scenting him covertly as he can. 

 

Rhys’ mother is adamant about them not sharing a room if they stay in her house, so when it’s time to retire, they go back to the ship. 

 

“One day down, one to go!” Rhys tries to sound cheerful. 

 

Jack responds by pinning him to the cold, metal wall. Kissing him. Tearing his pants off and fucking him right there. Rhys wraps his legs around Jack’s waist. Holds him tight. The thrusts are harsh, not quite a steady rhythm. Rhys isn’t going to complain about it. Jack can have whatever he needs right now. 

 

Rhys just holds on for the ride. Kisses Jack deep and desperate. Whispers all the things that Jack wants to hear on a constant basis, even if he’d sooner take a bullet to the head than express it _. I love you. I need you. I’m yours. I’ll never leave.  _

 

Jack isn’t crying. Jack doesn’t cry. It might be that he’s afraid to. But he’s shaking. Breathing unsteady. On the precipice if a chasm he rarely acknowledges. 

 

Building an empire on nothing but bravado means hiding any signs of weakness. When someone has sacrificed their humanity in service of a persona so completely, backtracking would mean an utter crash and burn. Rhys used to wish that Jack would be more honest. That he would share more. That he would eventually dredge up all those ugly, uncomfortable truths that make a person three dimensional. Now he understands that it’s a little late for all that. Handsome Jack isn’t someone to rescue. He’d fight it tooth and nail. He would rather die than admit fault or failure. He’ll never expose old wounds to the light of day and let them start to heal. 

 

The best Rhys can do is try to steer him in less destructive directions and just be there for him. It’s all Jack really wants. Someone to come home to. Someone that’s not going to sell him out or try to kill him. Someone that will grudgingly tolerate all his faults, tell him when he’s being ridiculous, and keep him propped up through any downswings. 

 

Maybe it’s the same thing that anyone wants. Someone to rely on. 

 

Jack groans and pushes as deep into Rhys as he can before going still. They stay there for a moment. Both breathless and disheveled. Then Jack drags them off to bed. He buries his face between Rhys’ thighs. Licks, and sucks, and refuses to stop until Rhys is lying in a puddle of slick and screaming through his fourth orgasm. 

 

When Jack slips into him again, it’s sweet relief. They rock together, slow and dirty. Kissing deep as they’re fucking. Rhys can taste himself on Jack’s lips. He’s too exhausted to come again. But they stay tangled up in each other, even after Jack finishes. 

 

“I know this isn't easy for you. I really do appreciate it.” Rhys pets the side of Jack’s face. Uncoordinated and more than a little out of it. 

 

“As you well fucking should,” Jack snorts. At least he doesn’t seem like he’s about to fall apart anymore. “You owe me like, so many blowjobs when this is over.”

 

“What a hardship.” Rhys snuggles closer against him. 

 

“Do I also get bonus points for not proposing in front of your mother?”

 

“Oh my god.”

 

“I mean… there’s always tomorrow…” Jack grins. 

 

“If you whip out a wedding ring in front of my family I will light myself on fire, and I won’t even feel it because I’ll already be in hell."   
  



	2. You're Gonna Keep My Soul

+1.

 

Jack loves throwing parties. He always turns Helios into an absolute circus for New Year’s Eve. Champagne fountains, balloons, confetti and sequins. Everyone on the station has the night off, explicitly to attend the festivities. The large open room that’s used for conferences and product demos is converted to a dance floor. There’s music. Flashing disco lights. Tons of fancy snacks on silver platters. It’s all glitz and pageantry of the highest order. 

 

“You’re such a ridiculous queer.” Rhys rolls his eyes.

 

Jack is standing in front of the vanity, adjusting the lapels of his gold lamé suit. It’s sparkly and gauche, toe to tip. Even tie is covered in rhinestones. 

 

“Come on, babe. You know I look great.”

 

“You look like a metallic peacock.”

 

“A  _ handsome _ metallic peacock,” Jack winks. 

 

Rhys walks over to rest his chin on Jack’s shoulder. They make quite the picture in the mirror. Rhys is wearing a plain, well-tailored black suit. Jack bought it for him as a birthday present a couple years ago, after Rhys rejected the initial offering of a snakeskin mini skirt. Jack is a lot of things, and  _ subtle  _ will never be one of them. But he has at least developed a vague understanding of Rhys’ proclivity towards the understated. Or, he accepts it. Even if he doesn’t really get it. 

 

Still. Rhys is somewhat concerned that Jack is going to make a scene tonight, and do some sort of dramatic proposal in front of everybody on the station, with confetti raining down from the ceiling and fireworks going off outside. Of course, he’d probably say yes. He’s been ready to say yes for a while now. Just… that sort of spectacle would make him incredibly anxious. 

 

Jack turns enough to kiss Rhys on the cheek. 

 

“Ready, cupcake?”

 

“As I’ll ever be.”

 

Jack links their arms together as they walk towards the elevator. Rhys can’t keep from smiling a little. Jack’s energy is contagious. 

 

The party is already in full swing when they get down to the main floor. Some people have certainly been drinking since noon. After all, it’s not very often that Hyperion employees get to have  _ fun _ . Occasions like this are the only thing keeping morale from hitting rock bottom. 

 

Jack is all smiles. Even for low-level employees who he couldn’t care less about. He walks through the crowd, clinking glasses and wishing everyone a happy new year. Rhys just trails behind him, along with a swath of C-level executives who are trying to get in face time. 

 

Eventually, Jack claims a large table. Of course, Rhys has the privilege of sitting next to him. The rest of the twenty or so seats are up for grabs. It’s a hilarious game of musical chairs, where everyone is trying to push everyone else out of the way, while pretending they aren’t stooping to such a crass display of physical aggression. Jack chuckles and drapes an arm across the back of Rhys’ chair. Then he proceeds to spend the next half an hour monologuing, cracking jokes, and watching his yes men force awkward laughter. 

 

Rhys zones out for the most part. Just people watching. Yvette arrives before too long and she drags him out onto the dance floor. She puts her hands on his hips and he drapes his arms around her shoulders. She’s in a pair of impressive stilettos with her black cocktail dress. She’s still not quite as tall as Rhys, but it’s much closer than usual. 

 

“Your idiot is dressed to the nines tonight, huh?” Yvette smiles, pressing closer to Rhys than strictly necessary. Jack must be watching. Yvette’s favorite time to get handsy in public is when they have a jealous audience. 

 

“He certainly is. But it’s hard to hold it against him when he’s so happy. This is the only holiday he likes.”

 

“Kinda weird, when you think about it. He never takes off that mask. You’d think he would be all about Halloween.”

 

“Stop it.”

 

“Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong with his face?”

 

“Nope.”

 

That’s one line Rhys knows he can’t cross. Even he wouldn’t be immune to Jack’s wrath. In their years together, he’s only seen the mask come off twice. Both times due to facial injuries that required surgery. Rhys got to change the bandages and help take out the stitches. 

 

There’s a blue gash that runs from Jack’s jaw to his forehead in the shape of an upside-down vee. It runs across one of his eyes, which presumably is why he had it modded with bionics at a later date. It’s not the sort of mark that could ever be hidden with makeup or clever lighting. Thus, the mask. 

 

Rhys held the sides of Jack’s face and told him that it didn’t matter. That he’s still Handsome, even with such a large scar. 

 

Of course, Jack told him exactly what his precious opinion was worth.  _ The mask is for me, I don’t give two shits what you think about it.  _ But from what Rhys can tell, the doctors who operated on Jack mysteriously disappeared. Which means Rhys might very well be the only person allowed to see Jack’s face without dire consequences. Kind of a theme of their relationship, really. Rhys somehow being the one person who has gotten past all the various layers of paranoia and posturing and seen what’s underneath. It’s not exactly pretty. But he’s grown to appreciate the weird, haunting beauty of Jack’s most vulnerable moments. 

 

The song changes to something slower. Yvette’s hands slip down to grab Rhys’ ass. She’s not quite to the point of biting his neck. But she’s hovering dangerously close. 

 

She slots her leg between Rhys’ thighs and pulls him closer. The line between grinding and dry humping is always blurry. So Rhys lets it happen for a minute. After all, it does feel great and he misses Yvette. 

 

“May I cut in?” To the untrained ear, it might sound jovial. But to Rhys, it’s obvious that Jack is inches away from a total meltdown 

 

On the other hand, Yvette’s scowl is nothing short of poisonous. She’s never been one to hide her feelings. Especially where Jack is concerned. 

 

“Come on, Jack. Are you really so weird and needy that you can’t let your partner dance with somebody else?” Yvette raises her eyebrows, holding onto Rhys even tighter. 

 

“Is that what you’re doing? From where I was sitting, it looked like you were about to stick a hand down his pants.”

 

“So what if I was? You guys are open, right?” The words somehow get even sharper. It’s been a point of past contention. Wherein Jack hates sharing, and Yvette was ready to kick him in the dick.  _ It’s not polyamory if you can fuck whoever you want and Rhys is only allowed to have you—that’s just called being an asshole.  _

 

“Actually.” Jack puts a hand on Rhys’ shoulder and squeezes. “We’re monogamous now.”

 

Huh. Well, that’s news. Rhys slowly peels himself away from Yvette. She lets it happen, even if she’s not happy about it. Jack couldn’t look any more smug. Rhys lets out a long sigh.

 

“As fun as it is watching the two of you try to out-douchebag each other for my affections, can’t we just have a nice night?”

 

“What?” Jack instantly shifts to indignant. “I was being nice!”

 

“No. You weren’t.”

 

“Yeah. I don’t think you’re really capable of that.” Yvette is still hovering very close by. 

 

“I need a drink.” Rhys says to nobody in particular. He walks off towards the bar, unsure if they’re even following him. 

 

Sometimes he suspects the exaggerated animosity between Jack and Yvette is a partial cover up for the fact that they want to violently hate fuck. Jack would do it in a heartbeat. Yvette wouldn’t do it in a million years, partly because she’s a decent friend, mostly because she would rather stay on her high horse than get on Jack’s dick. So they are at a stalemate. Something has to give. The frustration gets expressed as snark. But also, Jack is extremely jealous, and Yvette loves nothing more than pissing off a possessive partner. So they’d be fighting regardless of whether or not they wanted to bang. 

 

Rhys has a type. Jerk is his type. And jerks don’t tend to get along, so his partners and his friends will forever be at each other’s throats. It’s something he’s accepted and honestly kind of enjoys. He’s an attention whore and loves being the rope in an endless tug-of-war between overblown egos. 

 

Rhys barely gets a fresh drink in his hand before he feels an arm wrapping around his waist. Jack must have gotten to him first. Rhys turns around, so he and Jack are practically chest to chest. 

 

“So, we’re exclusive now, huh?” Rhys sips his drink, keeping a neutral expression.

 

“It was your idea. You said you wanted monogamy when we get married.”

 

“That’s true. But we’re not married. Generally, exclusivity is the sort of thing you discuss with a partner before just declaring it in front of other people.”

 

“You don’t want to be my one and only?” Jack grins before dipping down to kiss the side of Rhys’ mouth. “Because honestly, I’m getting pretty into the idea of having you all to myself. Being the only one to ever touch you again. Owning you completely.”

 

“I’ve told you that your possessiveness is creepy, right?”

 

“Yeah. But it still turns you on.”

 

“You’re hopeless,” Rhys huffs. Because Jack isn’t wrong. Rhys was horny already, but there’s a fresh wave of lust pulsing through him at the idea of being  _ owned. _ Some days, he’s not sure why he bothers with the pretense of normalcy anymore.

 

Rhys tries to peer over Jack’s shoulder, see if Yvette is far behind him. But Yvette isn’t anywhere. Oh god. Jack is always threatening to throw her out an airlock. He wouldn’t actually do it. Would he?

 

“Relax, sweetheart.” Jack cups Rhys’ jaw. “I foisted your little friend off on Meg. I’m sure she’s having an excellent time. You wouldn’t think it from looking at her, but Meg is kind of a slut.”

 

“So is Yvette. I’m sure they’ll get along famously.”

 

Rhys knocks back his drink much too fast and lets Jack lead them back onto the dance floor. They twine around each other, moving too slowly to keep pace with the high-energy club beat. It doesn’t matter. They’re a world unto themselves. It feels good to press together like this. It feels good to be held close and kissed gently on the neck. 

 

They almost don’t notice when the crowd starts counting down around them. Rhys catches on and counts along, while Jack just stares at him, holding on tighter than ever.

 

_ “Five… four… three… two… one… Happy New Year!” _

 

As predicted, balloons and confetti rain down from the ceiling. Rhys goes in for the kiss. Jack pulls back after just a few seconds. It’s a little disorienting. Right there, in the middle of the drunken, jubilant crowd, Jack dips down on one knee, and pulls out the ring. He holds Rhys’ hand tight. Barely raises his voice loud enough to be heard in the ruckus of yelling and well wishes.

 

“Baby, I love you. I can honestly say that I’ve never loved anybody else like this. Feel special. You know I’d do anything for you, and I want us to have our happily ever after. So will you please fucking marry me already?”

 

Rhys is grinning like an idiot. He’s also probably tearing up a little. He can’t help it. This is the most real it’s ever been. Not just another step in some convoluted game. Jack  _ means _ it. He actually wants to be together. The emotions of the moment are completely overwhelming.

 

“Yes.”

 

Jack slips the ring onto Rhys’ finger. It fits. Rhys doesn’t have time to look at it before Jack is on his feet. They’re kissing like teenagers. Sloppy and over-eager. It feels like a spectacle, but when they break apart, nobody’s paying attention to them. The people around them didn’t even seem to notice what just happened. It’s perfect. Rhys can’t keep in the giddy, relieved laughter. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the [State Radio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nRXnoHDD6T4) song.
> 
> I might have started writing a wedding fic. Fuck me up.


End file.
